


Dickbabs Week 2019

by theragingstorm



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Canon Character of Color, Canon Disabled Character, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Crisis, Pre-Flashpoint, Recovery, mentions of canon character death and fake death, some canon divergence, some sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-05-31 04:43:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19418728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theragingstorm/pseuds/theragingstorm
Summary: Seven prompts, one per day.





	1. Day 1: “Do you trust me?”

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are, back again! I hope you all enjoy this year’s batch.

To say that Barbara Gordon was not happy was an understatement.

“What. Could you possibly. Have been thinking.”

The man before her fidgeted uncomfortably, eyes narrowing. The suit he was wearing looked ill-fitted, and unnatural; she was so used to a much larger, gruffer, and paler man wearing it. A harsh reminder of who their city and their people had lost.

The cave was darker and colder than usual, the computers and most of the machinery powered down, Bruce’s trophies and memorabilia cast in shadow. The Batmobile was ready to leave for patrol, its only occupant waiting expectantly for the man before her to join him. The bats had flown out for the night, and Barbara saw her breath mist in the air as she shouted again.

“ _What_ could you have been _thinking_!”

The cowl was down, so she could see how Dick’s expression sharpened. 

“I had to make a choice. Believe me, I wish I hadn’t had to, but...it’s what’s best in the long term.”

“Firing Tim from Robin is what’s best in the long term?” she demanded. “Ripping away the only thing that made him feel really happy, like he had a real home? And giving it instead to that entitled, arrogant little _brat_ who thinks he’s owed the world just due to his parentage?”

“That ‘entitled, arrogant little brat’ is still Bruce’s kid,” he returned. “If he’s anything like his father, anything at all —”

“Then he can still be manipulative, harsh, or controlling, like his father! He can still be proud, bullheaded, and loyal to Ra’s, like his mother! Which he has already proven himself to be! And even _if_ he has good tendencies, even _if_ he inherited that, being Bruce’s kid is not a goddamn guarantee that he can ever learn to act on them!”

Anger sparked in his eyes.

“So you’re saying I should just give up on a ten-year-old child, should’ve just left him to rot in fucking Ra’s al Ghul’s slimy old grasp?”

“I’m _saying_ , Dick, I know you want to save everybody, so, naturally, you want to save Damian. You think that he _can_ be saved. Well here’s the thing!” she yelled. “You already have too many people to worry about, you _can’t_ save everyone!”

“You think I should just give up instead?” he shouted right back. “How can _you_ , of all people, say that to me? Well, I’m not giving up on rehabilitating Damian, and you can’t get me to.”

Barbara threw up her hands.

“Fine! Don’t listen to me! Let the murderous grandson of a _supervillain_ run around with us, when Bruce is dead, when we already have Jason to deal with, when Steph’s running around wild, when we’ve already lost Cass and are, thanks to you, about to lose Tim! Let us and Alfred be murdered in our beds!”

Dick leveled a cold look at her.

“I shouldn’t have to explain this to you. I shouldn’t have to tell you to believe what I’m saying here, that a child raised by assassins is better off with us than with the people who made him into this. Would you rather just condemn me out of hand?”

“I’m trying to protect the people we care about! Including _you_! I’m sorry, really, I am, but Damian is _not_ my priority.”

“You think I’m not trying to protect the people we care about?” His eyes smoldered. “I’m Batman now, Barbara. I hate this, I never wanted this, but it’s my responsibility now. I have to carry the city, the League, and what’s left of this family, and Damian’s included in all that. I’m trying to do what’s best for everyone here, even if it kills me — and even if you have no faith in me.”

With that, he left her in shocked silence, cape flaring behind him as he marched towards the Batmobile, Damian’s smug little masked face peering through the passenger-seat mirror, leaving her to digest his words.

For a few seconds, she merely sat in the heavy quiet of the cave, anger and grief burning in the back of her throat.

Then, she decided maybe it was best to go home.

* * *

“Home,” at the moment, was a far cry from her former bases in Metropolis and California, and especially her old beloved Clock Tower. She’d missed it ever since the place had been leveled, and she longed, someday maybe, to rebuild it and take up residence again.

At the moment though, she was stuck with her crappy low-rent apartment.

The plaster was falling apart, the pipes barely worked, and the walls were paper thin. Her nosy neighbor Susan, the old lady with rollers perpetually in her hair, was convinced that Barbara was steadily bringing people through the window to have sex (no matter how many times Barbara explained to her that the thumping and scraping was just her moving her stuff in), and yet somehow Susan never said a word to their other neighbor Mike, who she knew for a fact _was_ steadily bringing people through the window to have sex. Her sleep was suffering from both of them.

What was worse, it was difficult to conduct her work as Oracle. Everyone around her thought she was a hermit for never inviting any of them over, just so that she could keep secret her rather-hard-to-miss system. The computers in her living room were big and powerful enough so that she’d hooked them up to the main grid (which wasn’t exactly “street legal”), sucking up half the neighborhood’s electricity. She’d made up for it with a generous anonymous check, gathered from her Wayne Enterprises shares, to the power company, for the purpose of doubling the amount of electricity given to the neighborhood, which allowed everyone else to do their laundry and watch TV, and herself to _try_ and reestablish her old role as the main information broker of the heroes of Gotham.

Though that was hard, when she’d broken up her own team, and when most of the heroes of Gotham she’d known were either dead, running wild, or had left.

Barbara slumped down in front of the computer in her sweatpants and tank top, rubbing her eyes under her glasses, fingers tapping the keyboard. She longed for Steph and Cass, for Dinah and Helena and Zinda, for Ted, for her extended Birds, for Tim and even Jason. Most of all for Bruce. Though he and she had never said as much to each other, they had loved each other like he had loved Cass and the boys, like she loved her own father. Without him, everything seemed to have fallen apart.

Despite her own words, she wished that Damian _would_ be like Bruce — in _any_ way. She’d even take Bruce’s iffier traits right now.

Even as she worked, Barbara felt her eyes grow hot and prickly. Felt the teardrops fall and splash her keyboard.

She didn’t even notice the hours slipping away until there was a knock on her door.

She started, and glanced up. The clock on the screen read _3:47 A.M._

“Shit.”

The knock came again.

“Go _away_ , Susan. I’m really not in the mood right now.”

“Babs?” came the voice behind the door that was definitely not Susan’s. She started. “Hey, Babs. Patrol just ended, and I sent Damian home; can we talk?”

Her shoulders stiffened.

“Do you really want to talk, Dick? Or are you just going to insult me again?”

“I dunno, are you gonna yell at me any more?”

She gritted her teeth, pushing back from her desk and rolling to the door. If he was still in the Batsuit, in the middle of her hallway for a dozen civilians to see, she was going to kill him.

When she cracked open the door, just enough to see through, he was wearing jeans and an old _Property_ _of_ _Blüdhaven_ _Police_ _Department_ t-shirt. He looked even more worn, and there was a new cut on his cheek. She realized then that his eyes were red and bleary from lack of sleep, and he clearly hadn’t shaved in a couple days.

She opened the door just a little further. Behind him, she saw several of her neighbors, including Susan in her fluffy bathrobe and Mike in his underwear with a pretty young thing beside him wearing nothing but a blanket. She wondered why none of them were asleep at nearly four in the morning, all muttering to each other.

“Barbara’s got a man?”

“I thought she was a lesbian.”

“ _I_ thought she was asexual.”

“That’s a thing? With humans ‘n shit?”

“Of course it’s a damn thing. Don’t be backwards, Joel.”

Dick heroically ignored them.

“Can you let me in?” he asked. “I really just want to talk.”

More muttering. Barbara deliberately hesitated, not really sure whether she wanted to hear him out just yet.

“You said I have no faith in you.”

“Yeah, and I...I want to apologize. Explain myself, I guess.”

She hesitated some more. Drawing it out just a few more seconds.

“Okay, fine. Come in. But close the door and keep your voice down, I don’t want anyone —” She glared out into the hallway, “— listening in.”

He did, making sure to bolt it for good measure. Very carefully stepping around the massive power cables, he walked around her computers and out of her living room, right into her bedroom.

“What are you —”

“What? Oh. No. There’s just nowhere to sit in the living room.”

She bit her tongue, then rolled in after him.

Sitting on her bed, his head bent, to her, he still looked like the last person who should be carrying Bruce’s mantle. And all the weight that came with it.

He looked up at her.

“Barbara, I — I am sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you like that.”

And just like that, her coldness melted. If it had been anyone else, anyone at all, she would’ve been disgusted at herself by how he could soften her.

“I’m sorry too,” she managed to say. “I’m not sorry for being mad, but I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

He bowed his head again.

For a nearly a minute, they sat there in silence.

“Dick.”

“Yes?”

“Do you trust me?”

He looked up again, clearly startled.

“Of course I trust you. How long have you been there — how long have we known each other?”

She swallowed hard.

“I...I don’t want you to be Batman.”

He laughed mirthlessly.

“Join the club.”

“No, I mean...look. Please listen to me. This family’s ripped apart enough. I don’t want to lose anyone else. I don’t want anyone else I love to suffer. And I especially don’t want you to make the choices that should’ve been Bruce’s to make.”

Dick shook his head.

“I understand. Tim was a wonderful Robin,” he said, half to himself. “Maybe he was the best of the four — _five_ of us. Like a brother to me even before he was adopted, and I...God I hope I didn’t drive him away for good.”

“Exactly,” Barbara burst out. “You can’t deny that Tim deserves that mantle. He’s earned it a million times over. Damian’s done nothing to deserve it. If you know why you shouldn’t, then why did you?”

“It’s not about _deserve_ ,” he said indignantly. “The rest of us were wild too, reckless, disobedient. Do you think Jason ‘deserved’ it? Or Stephanie? Or, for that matter, _me_?”

That brought her up short.

“Barbara. Do _you_ trust _me_?”

She was about to get angry again — but this time, something in his voice gave her pause.

“Yes,” she decided. “I do. You should know that I do.”

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “One word: Cassandra.”

She looked at him.

“Born to one assassin, and raised by another. Raised to be a living weapon, she was just a little girl when she made her kill.”

She suddenly understood where he was going with this.

“Here’s another: Helena. Daughter of a mafia boss, deliberately killed untold numbers of criminals, brutalized countless more. Another: Selina. Stole millions’ worth of jewels and gold and artwork and cash, both before and after she murdered Black Mask. Stephanie’s the daughter of a crook and murderer, Renee’s certainly killed in the name of her job, as has Zinda. Look, I don’t like Talia, never have and probably never will, but can I condemn her _or_ her son for whose descendants they are, and everything they’ve done having been under his thumb their whole lives?”

He sighed. 

“You’re right. We _can’t_ save everyone, Barbara, much as I hate it. And I _do_ trust you, I do value your thoughts; you can watch my back for me, make sure I don’t get complacent, like you always do. You don’t have to like Damian, or think he’s the right choice. But I’m going to. And so, please...at least trust _me_. Trust that I’m doing this because...because I...” He blinked hard.

“Because you can’t stand to not try, at the very least,” she finished. The last of her frustration vanished, and she rolled right up to the bed, clambering up next to him. He wrapped his arms around her, and she leaned into his touch.

“I’m sorry, Dick,” she sighed. “I just...our community, our family, we’re already losing too many people. This Damian thing’s a mess, being Batman is clearly weighing on you so much, and I don’t...I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

She felt his fingers reach up to brush at her eyes.

“Babs...is that it?”

She buried her face in his shoulder, trying not to sob, trying not to break down.

“And I don’t want to lose _you_. You’re not Bruce, you hate this, it’s clearly wearing on you, and I’m scared for you already. Throw in all that family shit, and...” She cleared her throat. “Well. You had better come back to me every morning. That’s all I have to say.”

“I’m not going to leave,” he promised. “And I’m not going to die. Cass will come back. You’ll see your friends again. Jason and Steph we’ll learn how to work with, once and for all. Tim...I’ll figure things out with Tim. It’s going to be rough, but we can do this. I swear.”

“You can’t promise that,” she insisted. “You can’t promise that you won’t —”

“Barbara.”

She looked at him once more.

“Trust me.”

With only a couple hours till they both had to wake up and begin working again, she fell asleep while wrapped in his arms. Creatures and strange individuals crept through the city’s shadows, and sirens blared through the night, but for once, nothing, not even dreams, disturbed them as they slept.


	2. Day 2: “It’s three in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I apologize in advance. 
> 
> MAJOR warning for rape and sexual assault/harassment ahead. Mind the tags, everyone.

On the surface, things seemed to have gone back to as normal as possible. Dick had moved back to Gotham, gone back to being Nightwing without fearing it would sentence someone he loved to death, gotten a new day job. The love of his life didn’t see him as contaminated yet, even after he couldn’t save all those people — _even after, no, she didn’t know, wasn’t going to tell her_ — she let him live with her instead. He was glad for that, glad to have a home in Gotham again.

He couldn’t go back to Blüdhaven, not for a long time. Too many ghosts now, too many people he would never see again. Too much blood spilled. Too many regrets.

Maybe it was just as well. They’d been together for a long time now, it was high time he moved in with her. _(Maybe he would even propose to her soon, if she didn’t mind being married to someone so dirty, so disgusting, so full of shame.)_ He loved her home. He loved the big windows, how she kept everything in its place, how it always smelled like brewing coffee, the massive computers perpetually humming with energy.

But the part that he should’ve loved most, getting to kiss and touch her, getting to climb into bed with her every night, for the last few months, had been difficult, her lips and hands on his body making his throat clog up.

He _should_ love it. He had _always_ loved it.

So he pushed the uncomfortable feeling down, and focused on controlling himself. Like he should’ve always been able to do.

“Right there,” she moaned, clutching his head; he kissed and sucked on her collarbone, nipping gently at the sensitive skin. His fingers curled and maneuvered, wetness dripping down his wrist. “Oh _God_...”

It had been an early night for both of them; at barely eleven at night, instead of working, they found themselves wrapped up on their bed, skin burning, the windows flung open. The night sky was purple with thick clouds, thunder rumbled in the distance, and the cool wind that came sweeping in, rustling their curtains, smelled strongly of rain.

He dipped his head and kissed her breasts, laving at the hot skin, two fingers buried inside her, feeling her writhe around him and cry out as she came. When she came down, she was panting and sweaty, skin flushed, but she smiled at him.

The first few drops splashed the sill outside.

Dick slowly licked his fingers clean. Barbara languidly sat up before him, blinking slowly.

“My beautiful boy,” she said softly, reaching up to caress his face. He shuddered. “Lie back.”

He was startled; a tiny sense of panic began inside his chest, building swiftly and steadily. He hadn’t done it like that in months, not since...

He pushed that thought away. The rain began to come down faster, harder.

“Yes,” he whispered, laying back across the bed. Sitting beside him, she bent to kiss his lips, still caressing him lovingly. The scent of city air, of rain, and the sound of it, filled his senses as much as her touch.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

 _Everything is okay,_ he told himself. He knew he was safe.

That was, until he felt movement. Felt hands bracing lightly against his stomach, legs wrapped around his hips —

— heard the soft sigh of pleasure as the one above him lowered herself down. Felt the slick sex wrapped around him, felt the warm weight of a woman straddling him as she fucked him.

It overwhelmed his senses. 

Then too, he heard and smelt the rain, the thunder, the sounds of the city from far above —

— his whole body convulsed.

His heart and brain shrieked into overdrive.

 _He was_ not _there, he was_ not _safe, he was not in his own bed, he was with a different woman on a different night while the rain pounded down around him. He tasted the bile in the back of his throat, felt the blood splattering his gloves, smelled pollution and gunpowder and sickly-sweet lily perfume, felt the dirty rooftop and rain, felt her gloved hands on his uniformed body. He was not with her. He was with_ her _._

The woman on his body bent to kiss him. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t do anything but react.

“Get off me!”

The scream tore itself from his lips; he grabbed his offender around her waist and ripped her from him, flung her off.

Which was when he woke up, and realized what he had done.

Guilt wracked through him; his breath kept coming quick, he sat up and clutched his head, rocking back and forth.

Barbara had been thrown nearly clear from the bed, on the far side, she struggled to not fall off the edge, to get back up again, looking shocked and outraged.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded. “Where, exactly, do you get off in throwing me around? Do you —”

It was then that she seemed to realize how he was curled up into himself, fingers twisted in his hair, his breathing coming out almost in sobs. She sat up, her expression softening.

Dick was terrified by this. Barbara, of all people, knew the symptoms when she saw them.

“Which memory?” she asked.

“None,” he mumbled, trying to deflect her, trying to calm his breathing and heartbeat.

“Bullshit. Which memory?”

She reached out; he shied away from her.

“The — the building explosion,” he lied. “It was cold and about to rain that night. I felt it through the window, and I — I remembered how it felt outside when I got there, saw it ruined and in flames, all my neighbors dead...”

Barbara was silent for a moment.

Then he felt the bed shift with her movement. Heard the squeak of her wheels. Then, the clack of the window being shut, the sensations of the stormy city night abruptly cut off.

The bed soon gave slightly under her weight again.

“Flashbacks are nothing to be ashamed of. You know that.”

“I guess so.” He still wouldn’t look at her.

“And don’t think you have to make this up to me or anything.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

He still felt her eyes on him.

Then the bed shifted one more time, and he felt her slipping under the covers to go to sleep.

He stayed in the same position until he heard her rhythmic breathing, until his own had finally steadied. Then he slid under next to her, looking at her, her eyes closed, her hair splayed across the pillow.

He’d used to love to wrap himself around her while they were in bed. He’d used to love to run his hands through that hair. Just like he’d used to be able to make love to her with pleasure, without worry or panic, without having a PTSD attack.

He felt incredibly, incredibly broken.

Dick rolled onto his other side and shut his eyes.

* * *

_“Te amo, querido. Mi tesoro, mi amor. Te amo.”_

_He was crying under the force of what she called love. Her hands were still on him as he threw up all over the rooftop, apathetically watching the rain wash it away, wishing it would wash away how filthy and disgusting he felt._

_“Don’t cry, querido. I love you. This is my love.”_

_Did she think he loved her too? Or did she just not care, as long as she could have him?_

_Had he given her any indication that her ownership was possible, was wanted even? He had been too kind. Too friendly. Too accommodating. He hadn’t been able to stop her when she kissed him. No wonder he hadn’t been able to stop her now._

_He should’ve been able to stop her. He should’ve said “no” more, should’ve said it louder. He shouldn’t have gotten hard. Shouldn’t have come. He was filthy, he was disgusting, for letting this happen when he was supposed to be loyal to another._

_But this wasn’t the first time, was it?_

_Another set of hands clutched him. At first, they looked richly orange-brown, veins shimmering with fire, then they became what they truly were: human, not alien._

_“You didn’t even notice it was me,” the second voice purred. “Silly little boy. Well, I got to have you, didn’t I? Even with her watching your back. I got to have you.”_

_“I got to have you,” the first voice echoed affectionately._

_More hands joined them. Dozens of hands. Touching, squeezing, pinching, grasping. An entire chorus of voices rose up._

_He felt like his skin was covered in filth, slowly increasing, their voices and hands burying him alive._

_“Don’t blame me, blame —”_

_“— that face.”_

_“— that costume.”_

_“— that ass.”_

_“So pretty.”_

_“Pretty little boy.”_

_“I always had a crush on you.”_

_“Look at that skin.”_

_“Those eyes.”_

_“What did you say you were?”_

_“I’ve never seen one of you people before.”_

_“How old are you?”_

_“Bruce isn’t around, silly boy.”_

_“Can you possibly look any better?”_

_“Just let me, just a little bit...”_

_“I thought it was true what they said about —”_

_“You can’t complain, you’re a man.”_

_“When you’re looking like that —”_

_“Let me touch you.”_

_“Let me have you.”_

_“Pretty, pretty, pretty boy...”_

_He screamed._

* * *

Dick was still screaming when he woke up. It was a full-blown thunderstorm outside, the black night heavy with the unending sheets of rain, the windows rattling with the weather’s force, and now too, with his shout that turned into a sob.

Next to him, Barbara leaned over.

“Dick? Baby? Honey, talk to me.”

He collapsed back into the pillows, glancing over at the clock on the nightstand.

“It’s three in the morning,” he gasped, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have woken you up.”

He tried to roll back over again, but she reached over and caught him by the wrist. He flinched viscerally.

“Dick —”

“It was just a stupid bad dream,” he whispered, pulling his wrist away. “It was nothing. Really. It was about nothing.”

“Dick. You woke me up before the nightmare was over. I heard you talking. You said ‘Catalina.’”

He froze.

“Catalina as in Tarantula, I’m guessing.” Her voice was full of concern. “As in, the Tarantula you used to work with, who you turned in for Blockbuster’s murder a couple months ago. Why are you having nightmares about her?” She paused. “And why did you keep apologizing to me, begging someone to stop?”

No. _No_. Not this again. Not what’d happened with Miriam, the humiliation of having the person he loved seeing him and knowing he’d let it happen. He couldn’t go through that again.

“It’s nothing,” he insisted, trying to pull away from her again.

“It is clearly not nothing. Dick, please —”

“No.”

“Dick —”

“No!”

“Dick, why won’t you talk to me!?” she burst out.

“Because you’ll hate me!” he shouted. “You think now that I’m worth loving, I’m not! You’ll see that! I tried to tell you that it’s my fault what happened to those people, what happened to Blockbuster, and I’m telling you now, it’s my fault what happened to me, you’ll understand that, you’ll hate me for what she —” He stopped himself, horrified, but it was too late.

Barbara stared at him. He could almost see her putting the pieces together in her head, and he hated it.

“What did she do?” she asked, her voice deceptively quiet.

He buried his face in his hands. This was it. He’d done it. The person he loved was going to see him. This time, to hate him.

“I betrayed you,” he choked out. “That night. Worse than I betrayed Bruce. After I let her kill Desmond, I — I couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything. Just kept reliving it. Ran up to the rooftop, tried to get away, but I collapsed.”

As he said it, he felt it again. Felt the dirty rooftop, felt the rain, smelt city air and perfume and gunpowder, felt the gloved hands and heard the soft voice, murmuring pet names and declarations of love. 

“She — she — she came up to me — I could’ve stopped her.” He sounded despaired, even to himself. “I should’ve stopped her. I told her no, to not touch me, but I should’ve fought back. I shouldn’t have let her, shouldn’t have reacted to...I’m sorry, Barbara.” The tears were coming freely now. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He almost didn’t dare to look at her, he was so ashamed. Both of the things Catalina had done were horrible, unforgivable, but he was complicit. Bruce hadn’t seen that, when he’d told him about Desmond’s killing, but Barbara would. Barbara would see that he was to blame too. That he had betrayed the one he loved.

He finally looked at her, expecting to see disgust. To see loathing. To hear her scream at him to get out.

He _did_ see hatred and horror and fury in her eyes, as she stared off into the distance. But when she turned to look at _him_ , instead he saw sorrow. Sympathy. And love.

“Why are you apologizing to me when you’ve done nothing wrong?”

He cried harder.

“No, no, baby, shush.” She stretched her hands towards him, then, when he said nothing and kept crying, she hesitated, before returning her hands to herself. “How could you think I wouldn’t still love you?”

“I’m not good enough for you to love.”

She bit her lip hard, then wiped at her own eyes.

“You think you’re not good enough to love? When you think _I_ am? Did — how many times have you told me that you love me no matter what, after what that monster did to _me_?”

“I do. You are. It — it’s different. You did nothing wrong, you were the victim —”

“It’s _not_ different,” she insisted, green eyes filling with fire. “If you don’t blame me for not checking, for just carelessly opening the door, then why would I blame you for not fighting back because you were in shock? Did I blame you for her kissing you when you didn’t want her to? No. That would be absurd. So why would I blame you for her —”

“I should have done _something_ ,” he protested. “Shouldn’t have let her drag me around afterwards, should’ve turned her sooner, should’ve pushed her away when she tried to touch me, tried to marry me —”

“She tried to _WHAT_?”

He nodded miserably.

“Put a marriage license in front of me. Tried to say no. Only just managed to get away.”

Barbara stared in shock.

“She did that to you, and then she had the fucking _gall_ to try and get you to marry her?”

Dick bowed his head.

“I — I could’ve — I keep letting down the people I love.” His voice was raspy with tears, ragged as broken glass. “First Kori with Miriam, then you with Catalina —”

“Wait, wait, wait. This has happened before?”

He couldn’t stop. It just kept all coming out.

“Miriam Delgado — Mirage. A time-traveler, a shapeshifter. She...she made herself look like Kori. I thought it was her. I thought...I should’ve _known_.”

Miriam’s delighted laughter at his shock, after she told him the truth, bragged about the truth, echoed in his ears even years later. His teammates accusing him of being a cheater, one of them calling him a slut, even demanding to know which woman had been better.

“She’s...she’s gone now. Went back to her own time. And Catalina’s in prison.” He kept staring at the folds of the covers. “Do you see why I didn’t tell you? I couldn’t protect those other people I failed, because I can’t even protect myself. I couldn’t even stop those women, and everyone else from...from...trying to get a piece of me, I guess. I failed _you_ , too.”

She looked down too. Her bare skin rippled with the city’s electric lights, patterns distorted by the rain on their window. The bullet scar seemed to bend in the flickering light.

“I hate them,” she said simply. “I hate them, for what they did to you. I hate everyone who’s so much as _touched_ you, much less those two. If I ever meet them, face-to-face, I’m not sure I’d be able to stop myself from doing something drastic.”

He thought of how _he’d_ been unable to stop _himself_ , upon having the Joker at his mercy.

As he thought this, Barbara opened her arms. A silent asking for permission — which he answered, leaning forward and burying himself in her arms, nestling his face in the crook of her neck. One arm wrapped around his body, safe and strong, the other hand cupped his head, stroking gently over his hair. So soft, for someone who’d just been casually saying she might brutalize someone...or maybe worse.

She kissed his head.

“But I don’t hate _you_. I love you.”

The tears returned; he cried more, more freely, still wrapped up in her arms.

“It wasn’t your fault. You did nothing to deserve it. It’s on them. Not you. And you’re more than just a body.” Her skin was so warm against his. “So...we don’t have to have sex until you’re ready.”

“But you said it took you a year to feel comfortable having sex again.”

“Then I’ll wait a year. Or more. Or however long.”

Dick still didn’t feel like he really deserved this. But _she_ felt that he did.

“You’re the only one who knows about Catalina,” he confessed. “And you’re the only one, besides Kori, who knows the full truth about Miriam.”

“Okay,” she said softly. “Okay.” She paused. “I get that you haven’t really told people. But Dick...you don’t have to be ashamed.” A tightness entered her shoulders. “Everyone who hurt you, they should be ashamed. And if they’re not...maybe I should see to it that they are.”

“Barbara...I...I can handle it.”

“No. You don’t have to carry everything yourself. I don’t want you to.” She kissed his head again. “I _get_ it. And I’m here for you.”

The sky outside flashed with lightning, illuminating the two of them within. For the first time in months, a little of the pain eased, a little of the weight lifted from his shoulders, even if just for the moment.

“Besides.” Her teeth glinted. “Nobody fucks with the people I love.”

He held her a little closer, shutting his eyes once more. Reminding himself that thought it might not be okay, with her, he _was_ safe.

“I know. I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Ever since I got into DC, three things that have always INSANELY pissed me off are 1) how Dick seems to be a focal point for sexual harassment, which the perpetrators nearly always get away with because he’s a man and they’re typically women, 2) how he was canonically raped not once, but twice, both of which were poorly handled, AND both times he was victim-blamed for attracting the attention of his rapists, AND both times he was never shown dealing with the repercussions of it, and 3) his girlfriends at the time, both canonically sexual assault survivors themselves, were made to be two of the ones to blame him for unwanted advances and/or his assaults. Here, I suppose, is my response. 
> 
> (I also like to imagine this takes place just before Secret Six 2008 #7)
> 
> To real-life male survivors who might be reading this: it was not your fault, you are not less of a man, you still deserve love and respect, and you are not alone.
> 
> rainn.org


	3. Day 3: “It was good to see her laugh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely based off my own struggles with depression, body image, and my feelings on my disabilities. Love and support doesn’t make it go away, it doesn’t cure you, but it does sure as hell help.

It was a surprisingly beautiful day in Gotham.

The cloud cover was reduced to a few wisps of gray, an unusually pure blue shining through above the skyline. A brisk breeze kept the temperature down in the mid-seventies, and the sun basked the gloomy city in a rare kind of splendor. People took the rare opportunity to head out to bike, jog, or play in the park with their kids and dogs. The supervillains skulked in their corners, leaving the people alone, since such beauty and happiness didn’t seem like a fitting backdrop to their dastardly, twisted crimes. For the most part, Gotham remained almost peaceful.

But for Barbara, the beauty was irrelevant. For her, it was one of _those_ days.

It had been over two years since the shooting, and yet that sick, ugly grayness from the first few months afterwards still managed to creep back into her life from time to time. Those days when she couldn’t bring herself to shower, to brush her teeth, when she didn’t want to even leave her bed. She would work listlessly on a smaller computer instead of at her main station, her hair a wreck around her head, the pajamas she was wearing becoming more and more rancid, because she couldn’t get up, couldn’t bear the sight of the wheelchair parked a few feet away.

Phantom pains rippled up and down her unfeeling legs.

She winced and clutched her thigh. Nausea rolled through her gut; the muscles in her legs were so deteriorated, even after physical therapy. They would probably remain deteriorated for the rest of her life. They had used to be strong, beautiful, able to carry her for miles, through an endless array of activity.

The computer fell to the side of the bed; her hands continued poking and pulling at her body. Her fingers traced the scars and stretch marks that streaked across her body like snail trails, she pulled at the skin around her waist, pinched at her hips and breasts until her nails nearly broke the sensitive skin, tugged at the hair on her body that she hadn’t had the energy to shave.

Then she cried out in frustration and fell back into her pillows, clutching her head, angry and tired. This was so unfair. She had to be better than this. She was _known_ for her brain. She shouldn’t have it still turning traitor against her, shouldn’t be too weak to overcome any problems within it.

Barbara punched her bed listlessly.

She barely had the energy to tap the keys, to finish her rounds for the morning. At noon, once her work was done for the moment, her stomach had grown to ache with hunger, her throat burning with thirst, but she couldn’t bring herself to go eat or drink anything.

Maybe for now, she should just sleep. That was better than being awake and having to feel like this.

“No. C’mon,” she whispered to herself. “Get up. Brush your teeth, have something to eat. Do something other than lie on your back all day.”

But she didn’t.

The tears came back to her eyes; she fisted her the covers and tried to keep herself from crying into the pillow. As the tears receded, her eyelids grew heavy, so that her head dipped further into the fabric, unwelcome sleep slipping up to her.

Then she heard the footsteps and voice in her living room.

“Babs? Hey Babs? I’ve got the day off; I came to see you.”

Her eyes creaked open. Her stomach sank; she didn’t want him to see her like this.

She pulled the covers over her head.

“Babs? Where are you...”

The footsteps stopped just outside her open bedroom door.

“Oh. I see.”

Barbara’s heart clenched.

“Go home, Dick,” she muttered, her vision tinted cream-yellow by the sheets. “It’s not a good time for a visit.”

He didn’t listen. Instead, the bastard pulled her sheets off; she moaned and buried her face in her pillow. It was almost too much of an effort to not cry again.

“It’s one of _those_ days, huh?”

She couldn’t bear to look at him.

“I don’t want your pity, Dick. Go home.”

“No. No way.”

Her treacherous body slumped and curled into him when he picked her up off her bed, her hands clutching his shoulders, like they still had a bit of life to them. He carried to the bathroom and set her down on the edge of the tub, and she finally looked at him. These days, so filled with the passion and freedom that being Nightwing brought and the determination to make something of his new city, he seemed to shine from within. In his jeans and yellow button-down with the sleeves rolled up, he looked young, fierce, beautiful, full of life.

She felt ravaged.

“Okay. Take your clothes off.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“No, no, not like that.” Dick vigorously shook his head. “I just want you to take a shower.”

The tears pricked her eyes again, and she scrubbed at them with unnecessary prejudice.

“I...no.”

“Barbara.”

“I can’t, okay? Not today.”

She hated herself for showing it. She hated how weak, how pathetic she must look to him. 

Dick stood back for a moment, putting his hands on his hips.

“Okay. I’ll help you.”

“What do you —”

“Just get undressed. And trust me.”

She did manage to unbutton her top and shuffle her pants down her unwieldy legs, sliding from the edge of the tub to the ledge inside it where she took showers. Then, to her surprise, she saw Dick stepping out of his own clothes and into the tub with her. Still so beautiful before her.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, I’m not making a move on you, I promise.”

The showerhead switched on, the warm water gushing down over her, and she finally realized.

Her eyes closed again, and she heard the shampoo cap _click_ , felt his hands run and lather the sweet-smelling liquid through her hair. He was so gentle with her hair, massaging her scalp, caressing the strands like it was a living thing before he rinsed the shampoo away. Then he repeated with the soap, stroking the bubbles along her skin, rinsing them away, requiring her to put in no effort whatsoever.

She still hated it.

“I don’t want you to take care of me,” she snapped as he turned off the shower. “This is humiliating. I’m not a child whose hand you need to hold.”

Skin and hair running with the water too, Dick looked taken aback for a moment. Then his eyes became flinty.

“If you think I think you’re weak, that I don’t respect you or your autonomy, you don’t know me at all. Needing help when you’re _too_ _depressed_ _to_ _get_ _out_ _of_ _bed_ isn’t being weak, Barbara.”

It was unbelievable how well he got to the heart of her matter.

She stared at the bottom of the tub, heart clenching.

“You should know that I don’t think of you like that.”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “But it’s hard not to...”

“Feel like I’m rubbing it in?”

She huffed, then sighed, leaning her head against the wall.

“That’s not what I...okay.” Dick took a deep breath, expression changing again. “Don’t think it of me holding your hand. Think of it as just me...trying to be there for you. Because that’s what I want to do. Damn it, Barbara. Please.” He was almost begging now. “Please let me help you.”

She said nothing for a little while, wondering at how he was so willing to stay with her, to put in the work she knew was so hard. 

“Okay. Okay, fine. You can try.”

He nodded, extending his hands again. Carrying her out, letting her dry herself off while he did the same, getting his clothes back on and fetching a bathrobe for her — and her wheelchair.

She swallowed hard upon seeing it, then took a deep breath of her own. Steeling herself.

She managed to roll herself out of the bathroom.

The rest of the afternoon melted and blurred together, still gray, but at the very least, more bearable. She worked at her station instead of in her bed, managing to keep her hands on the keyboard. Dick brought her water and coffee and later fixed dinner, which they ate across from each other at the kitchen island. He let her save her energy, not making her talk, but instead did all the work, chatting about Blüdhaven and his friends and what Bruce and Tim were up to. It all seemed like so much to her, and she wondered at it.

Halfway through dinner, he put his hand over hers, still making dry, snarky comments about what the police force were like, running his thumb over the skin. His chatter almost seemed to fade into the background while he touched her hand, slowly, gently, like it was something precious.

The hours stretched on, and the sunlight turned from white to gold.

After dinner, she rested in her seat while he put the food away and did the dishes, still talking a mile a minute.

Then:

“Hey, are you feeling any better?”

Barbara leaned into her arms.

“Still don’t want to talk about it.”

The water switched off. A few drops splattered while he shook his hands off.

“Is there anything you do want to talk about? Or would you rather not? Do you just want _me_ to talk?”

She shook her head at the first two questions, then nodded at the last. 

“Do you want me to tell you about when I was a kid, all the crazy shit we did at the circus?”

Shrug.

“Alright. I knew a guy whose trick was doing a high-dive into this tiny little pool of water, see, our snake dancer taught me to play cricket with her giant python watching us, one of our horses once ran away with me on his back, and hanging around with elephants so much, I learned a lot about them.”

“I would imagine,” she murmured, looking back up at him. The light remained in his eyes and posture; he rocked slightly on the balls of his feet.

“They’re matriarchal, each group is headed by one older female. They mourn their dead and their babies suck their trunks like human babies suck their thumbs. And do you know why elephants are so wrinkly?”

“No, why?’

His eyes lit up as he grinned and said:

“Have you ever tried to iron one?”

It was only a little laugh, but it burst free nonetheless. Barbara covered her mouth, managing to smile behind her fingers, burying her face in her arms.

“Corny, Dick. Very, very corny.”

She felt his hand on her shoulder, affectionately rubbing it through the fabric. She could almost see his smile, big and broad.

“Yeah. It was. But it was worth it.”

His voice was full of triumph.

When she got all the way back to her workstation, everything cast in the long shadows of the evening, he excused himself to take a call from Bruce while she struggled to finish up. Professional, _and_ personal, as often were his talks with Bruce. What was more, he must not have thought she could hear from a room over, she realized about halfway through his animated talk with their mentor.

“Yeah, that’s what happened with the Dodson murderer last night. Sucks for him, and for those flamingoes. Speaking of the zoo, B, hey B, do you know why elephants are so wrinkly?”

She could almost hear Bruce’s groan when Dick finished the joke, chortling full-bodily.

“Hey, don’t be so hard on it. _Barbara_ laughed.”

Her fingers stilled. Everything in her aching, tired body strained to listen.

“Yeah, no, she’s still not ready to talk to you. But she did. She laughed.” Dick paused. “Yeah. I’m glad I did. It was good to see her laugh.”

Bruce must’ve said something then.

“B, you know what I’m like with her. Yeah, that’s right. When she’s having a rough time, I’d do all the tough shit over again just for one more chance to make her feel a little better.”

Barbara pressed a hand to her mouth. Her brain still felt stuffed with cotton wool, she was still exhausted, it was still hard to not look at her body with disgust, but this time, she didn’t try to stop the tears from falling, because they weren’t tears of pain or frustration.

“Heh. Yeah. No, it doesn’t feel like the work’s not worth it, no. It _is,_ to me. Oh. You’re gonna hate to hear about my feelings, but yeah. I _do_ , Bruce. I really do love her.”

The last light of the beautiful day stretched out and shone over Gotham City.


	4. Day 4: “I know you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little change of pace: Young Justice put me in an excellent mood, so today, you guys get something a little easier to read.

Summer was coming to an end, and so was the last of Dick’s stamina.

Still a rookie walking beats, he’d been tagged with back-to-back night shifts that made it hard to squeeze in time to be Nightwing, get in any downtime, or sleep. Not that getting downtime or sleeping took priority over being Nightwing these days. Another crime wave had hit Blüdhaven, keeping him busy at all hours, and Bruce and the kids were too preoccupied with Gotham to really help.

Dick was worn to the bone. But he’d be damned before he let it show.

So when he stumbled across the skyline on that heavy August night, residual heat hanging in the air like steam, the humidity dripping down his neck, he jumped onto the Clock Tower balcony with the kind of joviality that insisted everything was okay.

Everything hurt. His eyes ached, his head pounded. His muscles never weren’t sore; his body seemed to have turned to lead. Over the last few weeks, he’d been beaten, stabbed, shot at, and nearly caught in an explosion, on top of little to no rest. There was nothing he’d been wanting more lately than to curl up in bed and sleep for a few days.

He knocked brightly on the glass doors.

They swung open for him, just like always.

Dick moved inside, looking around for his girlfriend. Soon, his eyes alighted on her at her workstation, not looking upset or scared but clearly lost in concentration, brows scrunched up adorably like they always did when she was thinking.

Just like usual. How he knew everything was right.

Then, once he noticed this, he noticed other small things about the Clock Tower that evening.

Fat candles in glass burned on the coffee table, making the air smell like jasmine blossoms. Barbara was already in her nightgown, instead of spending the evening the way she usually did, in her day clothes with no intention of going to bed soon. The lights had nearly all been shut out, the dishes had been done. All of that denoted that she planned to go to bed soon.

Dick slipped up behind her. Still lost in thought, she didn’t notice him before he was right behind her — before he clapped his hands over her eyes.

She started, then tilted her head slightly.

“Huh. I’m guessing it’s either Dick or the cold, clammy hands of Death.”

“I do _not_ have clammy hands,” he protested, removing them from her eyes. She turned in her seat, smirking lightly at him.

“Yeah, that’s how I knew it wasn’t Death. That plus if he tried taking me again he’d get the stuffing knocked out of him.”

“I believe it,” he replied with total seriousness, bending to kiss her. His back and shoulders screamed in protest as he did, offsetting the joy he got from her kiss.

He tried to hide his wince as he straightened up again.

“So why are you going to bed early tonight?”

Barbara rested her arm on her desk. She pushed her glasses up her nose, then reached behind her head and pulled her hair out of its ponytail; it fell around her shoulders in beautiful waves of amber and gingery red.

“Actually, _you_ are. You need to rest, Dick.”

He stared at her.

“What — why — I don’t need to rest.”

Barbara leveled a long, unimpressed look at him.

“Dick. I know you. You’d run yourself into the ground before you inconvenienced anyone to help you or ever stopped helping them.” She paused, her expression softening a bit. “And I love you for that, Boy Wonderful, but honestly, it worries me sometimes.”

“You don’t _need_ to worry,” he insisted as all of his body groaned with exhaustion. “I’m okay. Really.”

“I know I don’t need to worry. Because you will be.”

She pulled him down and stole another kiss. It turned long, languid, both of them moaning and sighing softly with pleasure. It also sufficiently distracted him so that she could grab him by the wrist and drag him off to her room.

“Barbara, you _don’t_ need to help me,” he protested as she unzipped his Nightwing suit, methodically shucking the pieces of his uniform away. The kiss, and the scent of jasmine, were making him feel pleasurably dazed, almost drowsy. “I don’t want to trouble you, especially if you have more work to do.”

She pulled away, looking at him intently again.

“Dick. Listen carefully.”

Down to his jockstrap, he did. Training every bit of his hearing on her.

“I don’t have more work to do.”

With that, she manhandled him onto her bed.

“So no more excuses.”

The firm tone of her voice, plus the shock of her twisting his wrist, of forcing him down and onto his back, combined with the lingering effects of the kiss; he swallowed hard, feeling his blood rise.

Barbara pulled herself out of her wheelchair. She crawled up the bed, slotting down next to him, hair gently brushing his bare skin; he couldn’t help but stroke his fingers through it. Her own fingers traced down his body, slipping the jockstrap off. Her kisses continued, on his cheek, jaw, forehead, lips. Lazy, warm heat pulsed through his body, and every touch only added to his condition.

When she reached down and wrapped her fingers around him, he moaned and pressed his body against hers.

“Shh. Shhh, my love.” Her voice was soft, but it left no room for argument. “Don’t do anything. Don’t work. Don’t fight. Just let me take care of you.”

Dick finally gave in.

Not that giving in to her was ever difficult for him.

He shut his eyes, all but melting into the bed. He lost himself in it all: the mattress, the pillows, the scent, the warmth, the alternating sturdiness and softness of her body, and the heady pleasure that built in his belly as she stroked her hand along him. Fingers tracing over the head, cupping him, caressing and teasing just slightly.

His worries and stresses had fallen away. All that was left was the room and the woman too clever by far to let him get away with hurting himself.

Time unraveled. When he finally came, who knew how long later, sleep was catching up with him at last. The covers were pulled up around them, and she remained slotted up against him, her arms wrapped around him with no intent of letting go.

“How long have you known?”

“About how you were treating yourself?” She sighed softly. “Too long. You can’t go on like that, sweetheart.”

“I can’t just...” He yawned. “ _Not_ help people.”

“I know. I understand.” She held on a little tighter. “But you’re no good to those people if you’re incapacitated, exhausted, or dead. And you can’t...you can’t be any of those things. No.”

“You need me?” he murmured, teasing slightly.

“I _want_ you. So much.” Her voice low, she spoke directly into his ear. Almost like a love letter; she had to be feeling brave, determined, to be so honest with him now. “I want you with me. By my side, being my partner, my lover. But more than that, I want you to keep existing, to keep being yourself. Alive, and as close to happy and content as you can be. Not hurt, not even by yourself. I want you. And never forget: I’m prepared to fight for you, Dick Grayson.”

It wasn’t the specific words. But it _was_ an “I love you,” clear and true.

So at that, Dick finally allowed himself to rest.

As he was drifting off to sleep, he held that in mind, along with something he knew to be true: when Barbara decided to fight for something, she always knew it was something of great importance. And when she decided to fight...she rarely lost.


	5. Day 5: “I could’ve lost you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Fourth of July from Budapest! Here’s a follow-up to the events of Batman: The Black Mirror.

For the last two days, since her brother’s move and his subsequent arrest, their base was a flurry of activity. Alfred had gone out and back multiple times to obtain blood samples and spare medical supplies, several allies had arrived to report various lesser pieces of news, her father had visited to declare in a broken voice that James Jr. was securely in custody, and of course, the main living room was nearly always fluttering with Robins and Batgirls all talking at once, having skipped the last leg of patrol to find out everything that was going on or provide help in some way. 

Barbara saw none of them.

Alfred had refused to let her go home alone, so she lay in a guest room with a blood transfusion tube inserted into one of her arms, to make up for all that she’d lost just two days prior. Both her thighs were bandaged, trying to allow both her stab wounds and the burns that had cauterized them to heal.

The sky outside was gray and rainy, clouds wrapping thickly around the tops of the skyscrapers, water pouring endlessly down the windows. Moody and sorrowful. It matched the looks she’d seen on her father’s face, the pain and regret as his son was hauled away, the horror when he’d found out what had been done to his daughter. Even if Alfred _hadn’t_ insisted that she rest and heal her wounds, none of it exactly inspired her to get up and lead and snap out commands.

So she lay there, working with a small computer on her lap, not feeling the new injuries to her legs, trying not to think about the sunken feeling in her gut, the betrayal and the confirmation of what she’d known about her brother all alone.

From outside the room, she could hear the kids all talking at once. They seemed to have finally pieced together everything that had happened that night. 

“— she would’ve bled out?” Stephanie was asking. “No wonder Dick beat the shit out of him.”

“Tt. I hope he thrashed the bastard.” Damian, sensitive as always.

“I hate to agree with anything the kid says, but yeah.” Tim. “I know he’s her brother, but he nearly killed her. If Dick hadn’t shown up, yeah Steph, she would’ve bled out.”

“What a son of a bitch.”

“Poor Jim.” Cass. “Imagine...being like him...and having a son like _that_.”

“All of you, shush, if you please.” Alfred. “Miss Barbara still needs to rest, and the last thing she needs is reminders of her...” He paused, and she could imagine his lip curling. “... _brother_.”

The kids all muttered curses against James and sighs of agreement, even Damian.

Barbara put the Justice Society on standby and set her computer aside, trying to focus away from their words. She picked up the book one of the kids had left on her nightstand and dropped her gaze down to the first paragraph.

_I became what I am today at the age of twelve, on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 1975. I remember the precise moment, crouching behind a crumbling mud wall, peeking into the alley near the frozen creek. That was a long time ago, but it’s wrong what they say about the past, I’ve learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out. Looking back now, I realize I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years._

The past between her and her brother had clawed its way out too. Gotham did not keep things buried, no, Gotham raked human ugliness out of its hidden corners and from behind its gleaming masks and bared it for all to see.

She thought about all the events of recent. Of the wealthy people who’d put the crowbar used to murder Jason on auction, who spoke of and attempted to bring death like it was just another, deeper kind of thrill. Of the thieving, fast-moving egotists who killed for sport on the side, who crushed people alive or fed them to sea predators. Of Sonia Zucco, the child of the man who stole another child’s parents, who manipulated her father’s victim for her own ends. Of James Gordon Jr., her own brother, who murdered and tortured out of curiosity and greed and petty spite and for no reason at all, who poisoned and nearly killed their mother after she’d loved and favored him his whole life, who tried to experiment on untold numbers of babies to make them more like him.

Gotham did not let evil hide itself away. Gotham brought evil out into the light.

Barbara unconsciously touched the bandages, where her brother, her blood, her beloved father’s child, had buried a knife in each of her femoral arteries.

Sometimes the overwhelming honesty of Gotham’s evil, the harsh brutal light of truth cast upon countless people within, was enough to make one despair at finding any good.

All of a sudden, the kids’ quiet chatter was cut off, and the door to the guest room clicked shut. She looked up, and there, standing in her doorway was Dick.

He was still dressed as Batman, albeit with the cowl pulled down, exposing how drawn and worried he looked. He moved forwards, stretching out his hands towards her. His uniform, she noticed, was still splattered with her blood; blood she’d gotten on him while he was tending to her wounds and begging her to stay with him.

“How are you?” she asked.

“How am I — how are you?” His forehead creased with distress. “You just...you were...”

“Dying. I know.” She shifted in place. “Wasn’t the first time. Dick, you’ve had a really rough few weeks. You should be in there with your siblings, not worrying over me.”

“How could I not worry about you?” he blurted. He went to her bedside, falling on his knees and taking her hand. “I could’ve lost you.”

Her thoughts went back to two nights ago. Her brother with his cold eyes, casually pointing out the knives in her arteries, ripping them out to let her bleed to death. She’d hit him good and crawled away, trailing blood, vision blurring and body shaking, and had almost managed to escape when James caught up to her with another knife in his hand...

“But you didn’t.” She reached down to stroke his cheek. He leaned into her like a plant seeking sunlight, drinking her in with his gaze. “You saved me. You saved all those children, and anyone else my brother would’ve made suffer.”

Dick bowed his head. So full of love and concern. Just like he’d been while he held her, while she fought to stay conscious even after the blood loss, his voice breaking. Yet he’d been full of unbridled fury when he saw her brother, had hit James so hard, beat him till her brother’s mouth bled for what he’d done. Maybe it’d been lucky for James that it had been their father, not Dick, who’d been the one to take him down for good. Maybe the only reason he got away no worse than he did was that Dick had stopped for her sake, to save her.

Explosive anger and hatred. Tender, aching care and concern. Two sides of the same man. And he could switch from one to the other so swiftly. 

And yet _she_ had never feared him. She had never had any reason to.

“I had to,” he said plainly. “The ideas of letting him get away to hurt people people, and of losing you...I couldn’t let that happen. That...that wasn’t an option for me.”

Barbara shifted upon the bed.

“Did you...”

“No, I...you’re the strongest person I know. I know you can save yourself and protect yourself.” He rested his hand above hers, still looking intently at her. “But if I had to leap headfirst into danger because anyone else were in trouble again, I would, and if it were _you_ again, I wouldn’t even hesitate.”

Barbara couldn’t take her gaze from him either. She sniffled a bit, wiping at her eyes.

“I know, Dick.”

For a while, they just looked at each other.

She swallowed hard. She hated to admit that she needed help. Or that she might need it in the future.

“Gotham, this...this place we live in is so fucked up, in so many different ways. There’s always something terrible happening, something vile and life-threatening. You already throw yourself into danger so much already. Even if...even if I do need help again, I’d never ask you to do that for me, to risk yourself like that.”

He nodded.

“I know you wouldn’t. Like I’d never ask you to do that for me.” He tilted his head further into her hand, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Then he met her gaze again. “But Barbara...”

The rain outside pounded at her window, echoing her heart against her ribcage.

He rested his spare hand against the symbol on his chest.

“We’re superheroes. We protect, and we save. We take care of others.”

“We don’t stop at what people ask us to do,” she murmured in reply, the knowledge that had been drilled into them since youth. Tears prickled her eyes again. It was too much. Her family was so fucked right now, she even bore the physical evidence of that on her body, so how could she dare to believe she could have this just after all that happened? Just after the Gordons’ ugliness had been held up to the damning light? “We keep going. We do all that we can, and then we do more. For the good of our people, and for the good of everyone else.”

He nodded.

“And so why wouldn’t we do all that for the ones we love too?”

Barbara scrubbed at her eyes, but the tears still streaked down her cheeks. God, how she usually hated to cry in front of other people.

Dick removed his hand from his chest and gently wiped her eyes. The dust and blood on the outside of his gauntlet was washed away in streaks, her tears leaving the trails behind them clean.

Despite everything, despite the deep flaws within the Gordons, she still had family. She still had good people, people that she loved. 

“I sure as hell would for you.”

“I know, Boy Wonder. I know. You already have.”

Her other hand cupped his face too, and she leaned down to kiss him. They both lost themselves in it, and Barbara, without a doubt, knew that, even if just for that moment, all the pain and horror of the past few weeks seemed more bearable.

The rain kept coming down. Every trace of dirt and grime draining away, in the shadowy mist and clouds, the endless water washing away the last traces of blood. The city’s ugliness might never go away, or at least not for a long time. It had produced and revealed so much of it.

But the city had also produced and revealed heroes to match.


	6. Day 6: “If the world’s going to end, I want us to be together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place as a prelude to Final Crisis, albeit one that’s a lot more character-centric than Final Crisis actually was.

The end of the world seemed to have been coming many times before.

This time, it might truly be.

Darkseid had arrived on Earth.

The heroes of Earth had already assembled, having answered Green Lantern’s call of oncoming war. Already trying to stop the New Gods’ attempts to take their friends and coworkers out, already counterattacking, taking the battle to Darkseid’s allies.

But they might fail, nonetheless.

They might die trying. The world might fall.

For all his hope, for all his belief that they did have a chance, Dick Grayson knew they could also lose. That losing seemed, at times, the most likely outcome. 

So before he went off to fight, he headed back home. 

Dick swung high through the city, like he’d done thousands of times before. It was muscle memory now, pure instinct. This was the first place he’d ever stayed in that he hadn’t just been passing through. It was his family’s point of origin. His hometown.

He had pieces of it all over the United States, all over the world even, but his heart truly belonged to Gotham City.

So his heart would not let him die without a proper sendoff.

Dick kept swinging.

Bruce had already gone to the frontlines. The kids had all gone with him, as had their cousins the Kanes and all the family’s allies. Alfred had already sent each and every one of them off. No vigilante stayed to watch Gotham, because if they stayed much longer while the war was going on, there might not be a Gotham left to watch. None of the villains were committing crimes now anyway, no more big shows; it wasn’t going to matter if they all died tomorrow.

Egos and old grudges didn’t matter now. Heroism did.

Love did.

So Dick went to see the only other hero left in their town.

She was sitting at the harbor on the very edge of the city, watching the sunset over the water, the falling sun turning the sky blazingly red, making the intersection of the river to the sea shine like it was aflame. In the dying sunlight, her hair looked like fire too. But otherwise she looked much the same as she always did, in her jeans and tank top, her hair tied up, her glasses slipping down her nose. Her eyes were a million miles away, lost in thought. An open computer rested on her lap, and lines and lines of green code lit up the black screen.

He landed right behind her, retracting his grapple gun.

“This might be the last sunset we ever see,” she said, not turning around. “I couldn’t miss it.”

Dick walked over until he was standing at her side. He rested a hand on her shoulder, black-and-blue gloved fingers gently rubbing the firm muscle, savoring her presence.

“You’re not going directly to the battle, are you?”

“I don’t need to.” Her gaze was still trained on the horizon. “Besides. My dad’s not leaving, not till the bitter end. He’s not exactly trained to fight New Gods anyway.” She paused for a few seconds. “But you’re going.”

“I _do_ need to.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You’re staying with your family, I’m staying with mine.”

Barbara’s hand reached up and took his, bringing it down off her shoulder. She removed his glove and took his hand again, bare fingers interlocking, skin aglow with the last rays over their city. Fingers and palms twined together, and just that simple act set his heart thundering.

He honestly couldn’t think of any gesture more intimate, more loving, to make in that moment.

“We might die soon,” he said aloud. “But...I do still believe that we have a chance.”

He was gearing up to say something else comforting, to ease her mind as well as his own, but what she said in reply made his words dry up.

“You have more than a chance.”

He looked at her, and she, finally, met his gaze. The red light was reflected on the lenses of her glasses, making them flash crimson, and when she tilted her head, jaw set in that stubborn way he loved, her eyes were as direct as arrows, blazing like that sun.

“We all know that Darkseid plans to unleash his Anti-Life Equation on Earth. There are two ways he can do that: firstly, via direct contact, which takes a long time to spread through a whole planet, for obvious reasons. It will give the heroes too much time to gather their strength and resources to stop it. Secondly...via interpersonal communications. That, I believe, is how he plans to do it.”

Dick looked at her, sucking in a breath as he started to understand.

“He’ll try to spread the Anti-Life through phones and computers, through telecommunications and the Internet.” She grinned, looking like a she-wolf with her teeth flashing. “Which, even if I can’t shut down worldwide in time, I can _definitely_ shut down our people’s exposure to so that they can figure out the cure.”

His heart leapt into his throat. Hope roared up inside him.

“You’re going to do that?”

“Baby.” She was still grinning, her eyes alight. “I’m _already_ doing that.”

The computer beeped, and an artificial voice chirped: _Access_ _Granted_.

“That there’s the root in the computers and phones of everyone we know, including the systems of the Watchtower and Hall of Justice.” Barbara’s unoccupied hand hovered over the keyboard. “Once I shut them down, I’m going after the worldwide net. Our world may be about to end, but we’re damn sure not going down without a fight.”

Dick was breathless with awe for her. Almost unbelieving. Everyone had been despairing as to how to slow the Anti-Life, and they had just been given hope, a better chance, by the woman beside him.

They still might die. But she was right. They really had a fighting chance.

The heroes of Earth were not alone.

“Barbara?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t even know how to begin thanking you for this.”

Her grin faded.

“Don’t thank me yet.” She looked back off. “It’s not a guarantee. The world might still end, and I’m going to be as far away from you as possible when whatever happens does happen.”

Dick reached out with his other hand, and gently took her jaw, turning her face so that their eyes met again.

“Why do you think I’m here? Either way, we’ll never stop fighting, never give up hope, but we might not make it. If I die, I’ll see my parents again, I suppose. If I do or don’t, either way, I’m going to be with my new family when it happens. But I needed to see you too.” Blue eyes looked into green. “If the world’s going to end, I want us to be together.”

She was still holding his glove. Her hand shook in his.

“It had _better_ not. All my worries better be wrong. You had better come back to me alive, Boy Wonder.”

He couldn’t feel anything for her but pride and love. She was a great hero, a legend, indispensable to his community and to his family. And that legend was his best friend, his coworker, his partner in every sense of the word.

Looking at her, with everything flowing through him like lightning, Dick had a sudden inspiration. A tether, to keep him from doing everything she’d warned him against, from equating his worth to his work, from becoming so concerned for others that he cared nothing for himself. From dying, maybe. Just maybe.

Dick silently swore to himself that if he came out of this alive, he was going to marry her.

Oh no, he wasn’t going to propose right now. Not yet. If he _did_ die, it would be cruel to leave her hanging like that.

But if he kept his life on Earth in mind, kept the worth of his existence that he sometimes had trouble believing in in mind, then he had no intention of dying. No. He was going to come back. He had a life, and if they defeated Darkseid, there was no way it wouldn’t be worth living.

And thanks to her, he _knew_ , in his bones, that they would.

“I’ll come back to you,” he told her. “I promise.”

She didn’t take her eyes off him.

“Glad to hear it,” she said softly.

For a minute, they were completely lost. All there was was this moment, right now. Getting to be together.

Then she gave his hand one last squeeze, before unwinding their fingers. She handed his glove back to him.

“Now let’s both go kick Darkseid’s ass.”

Dick smiled at her.

“That’s my girl.”

He flew back up into the flame-colored sky, leaving her to resume the fight on her own, filled with determination. He would always be concerned, would always care, but wasn’t going to worry about her _too_ much in the upcoming war. He’d left her in good hands, after all: her own.

Besides, he was going to come back to her. Just like he’d always done.

Always would.


	7. Day 7: “We’ve come a long way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for this being late. But to all of you, thank you once again for your support this year. It has been, yet again, an honor and a privilege.

Barbara woke up upon that fall night shivering and drenched in cold sweat.

Below her window, the streets were shrouded in black shadows and amber street light. The skeletal trees creaked and swayed in a slow wind, the last dry leaves only just clinging to them. Everything was darkened, not even the stars were out; only the Bat-Signal lit the clouds while police sirens wailed in the distance.

The familiarity of it all calmed her. It allowed her breathing to steady while she came down from her nightmare.

It took a while. There was years’ and years’ worth of material.

The electric glow of Brainiac’s grin, of Calculator’s equations and codes.

The glaring headlights of Spy Smasher’s expensive government vehicles.

Ra’s al Ghul’s nauseatingly green, alight pit.

Lady Shiva’s vibrant outfits under a dazzling summer sun.

The Silicon Syndicate’s shiny tech and shinier smirks.

The lenses of James Jr.’s glasses reflecting pure, blank white.

The Joker’s camera. Flashing. Flashing. Over and over and over.

It took a long time to blink the spots from her eyes; they watered slightly as they adjusted back to the night. Then she buried her face in her arms, her body still shaking, eyes still wet.

So many memories. So many years.

She was so caught up in trying to calm herself that it took her some time to realize that the other half of the bed was cold.

Barbara’s head snapped up, looking over. At least it didn’t seem totally abandoned. The pillows were flattened, the sheets were rumpled. She’d asked him to go to sleep when he came back from patrol, and it looked like he’d attempted to.

For a while, at least.

Barbara carefully eased herself out of the bed. Moving into her wheelchair was second nature now. For too long, it had miserable, nothing but a curse, then a difficult, necessary evil. Now, she thought nothing of maneuvering over the armrest, of setting her bare feet into place, of her calloused fingers going to grip the pushrims.

Thirty years old, and it showed in the nonchalance of her moving forward in her chair as much as in the now-frequent ache in her neck, in the roughness of her skin, and the weariness of her eyes.

Maybe also in that after waking up from her nightmares, peace came to her body and mind so much quicker now.

She rolled to the door, squinting, intending to look through their home.

Everything was so quiet. Only the whirring of the machines and the baby’s soft breathing a door down broke the silence. All within was veiled in soft darkness, and the Bat-Signal appeared through the massive clock face, visible even while rippling through the hands and numbers.

She lingered for a moment, listening. She heard no cries or changes in her son’s breathing; she knew he was dreaming happy dreams, wrapped up in the blankets and surrounded by the little plush toys she’d put in with him. The computers hummed softly, the building creaked and breathed like it was supposed to.

She was about to set off into it when she heard a soft noise from the bathroom.

She swiftly retracted, then went to the door and opened it.

Water sloshed as Dick sat up in the bath, startled. Only a single candle burned on the floor near the tub, offering only a slight glow, so his face and bare body were still swathed in shadow. But she still saw the surprise in his expression, which, when he moved, immediately turned into a grimace of pain.

Barbara moved to the side of the tub just as he lay back down again, close enough to see clearly. The water lapped around his shoulders, drawing attention to heavy bruising on his upper body. His healed scars looked pinkish on his golden skin, blending in naturally at this point, but the ugly purple-green blotches were jarring and obviously hours-old.

“I thought you’d still be asleep.”

Barbara ran a hand up through her hair, sighing.

“Nightmares.”

“Who of?”

“Who _wasn’t_ it of?”

Dick nodded sympathetically.

“What about you? Who did that to you?”

He smiled in a rather strained, painful way.

“Who _didn’t_?”

Her heart twisted.

“Okay. Alright then.” She plucked his towel off the rack and extended it. “Come dry off. I’ll help you out.”

The water rushed around him as he got out, draining down the tub with a roaring gurgle. He had barely touched feet to the mat before she started drying him off, running the towel carefully over his wet skin. Obligingly, he bent his head too, allowing her to press the water from his hair, squeezing every so often, his soft hair curling as she teased it out. When he ran his hand through it, rumpling it, it reminded her of how it had looked when he was Robin.

She wondered if her absence of glasses and her own long loose hair reminded him of Batgirl.

Then she almost laughed at the idea. Only _he_ could be reminded of her past self, looking at how she was now. Truly. She doubted anyone who knew them any less well than they knew each other would be able to recognize them as Batgirl and Robin; their skin mapped with dozens more injuries, their bodies now bearing her paralysis and both of their aches, their eyes having seen so much more, having become far, far more tired.

Oh, the surprising ease of having a secret identity.

When she was done drying him off, Dick took the towel from her hands. He hung it back up, then gently parted her hair from her face. With just the tips of his fingers, he wiped the sweat from her forehead, cleared tears and sleep from her eyes.

“Is my baby okay?”

“You had better be talking about the _actual_ baby.”

Dick actually chuckled. The squeezing of her heart eased.

“I was, I swear. I feel like I’ve been in that bath forever, and thanks to my years with Tim and Damian, whenever I can’t see what’s going on with a child in the house I get nervous.”

“He’s okay,” she promised, taking his hands in her own. “And so is everyone else, I checked in with all the teams and everyone in the family before I went to bed.”

His shoulders slumped in relief. She lifted the candle and blew it out.

“Now c’mon. Let’s get your bruises wrapped up.”

Ever since they’d first moved in together, she’d kept bandages stashed everywhere around her home. When he lay back across their bed, still naked, she carefully wrapped up the injured flesh, making sure it wasn’t too tight. She finished, pinning it off, and he looked up at her.

“Not even going to kiss it better?”

Barbara rolled her eyes so hard all she could see were the insides of her lids.

But she kissed the bandages anyway, laying back down next to him.

“Be more careful next time, moron.”

He wrapped an arm around her, trying to pull her close, but she shied away from leaning against his injuries.

“Can’t do anything about the number of bad guys out there, Babs.”

He still sounded pained under his lighthearted tone. Barbara let out a sharp breath, her fingers curling into fists.

“It never ends, does it?” Her voice was low. “They just keep coming back. Even if we do manage to permanently defeat one person, they never really go away...in here.” She touched her head. “Even when they’re gone, they linger in your head, and there’s always someone else who crops up next. It never ends.”

“That’s the job, Babs.” But now he wasn’t trying to hide how exhausted he was. “Even if...even if we couldn’t stop so many of the bad guys from when we were kids. Even if our family still has to deal with them. Even if all these younger kids have it even worse than we did...”

Barbara sighed.

“Even if...” He cleared his throat raspily. “Even if our kids and grandkids might have to keep doing it decades from now.”

She was still for a few moments.

“That’s my worst nightmare,” she said softly. “Losing someone else I love to everything that’s out there.”

“Me too.”

She took his hand.

“Did you think, what with everything out there, what with all that bad shit that’s happened to us, we would ever get to _have_ kids, let alone grandkids?”

Dick was silenced by that question. His next breath was swift, almost like a realization.

“I dreamed about it,” he admitted softly.

“You did?”

“All the time. You know me, I’m usually caught up in the here and now, but every so often...” His breath came out smooth and soft. “I’d think about what we’d do. What we could be, if what was happening in the here and now didn’t kill us first. And, well, it hasn’t yet, has it?”

She turned around and looked at him. They were so close, that when they faced each other, the tips of their noses brushed. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips.

“It’s still so hard,” she admitted. “Living like this. And I never knew you dreamed like that...I guess I was still caught up in myself.”

“I think it always will be hard.” He blinked slowly, long lashes like butterfly wings. “But —” He chuckled again, but his voice was still so raspy, and he winced when he moved his hurt shoulder.

Barbara wasn’t going to allow that.

“What did you dream about?”

He looked startled.

“You’re the here-and-now guy, and I’m the one focused on the future, remember? Tell me. I want to be able to start planning.”

Dick looked down, shifting a bit in place.

“Well, I knew I wanted to marry you surrounded by all our friends and family. I knew I wanted to honeymoon somewhere tropical.”

“And we did that. Go on.”

Her husband smiled faintly.

“I wanted — want — two kids. Maybe three.”

“ _Three_? Are you kidding?”

This time, his laugh was full-bodied and genuine, and her chest finally filled with warmth.

“Alright. I thought about taking our kids out to the park on the weekends, going to gymnastics tournaments and martial arts meets. At some point, I’ll be on the Justice League, and when I travel through space, all the aliens will want to know who the most dangerous, powerful hero of Earth is, and I’ll tell everyone from here to Oa that I’m married to her. In between saving the world, every holiday and birthday Bruce and my siblings will make time to buy the kids expensive presents that we’d have to confiscate, your dad’ll let them get away with murder, and they’d love their family so much, ha, maybe more than us sometimes. I’ll do something special with you every anniversary, no matter how crazy things get. We’ll get a puppy, and our kids will play with her and she’ll run up to the door to greet them every time; we’ll get a blue bandanna and tie it around her neck over her collar.”

He met her gaze again.

“When they find out who we really are, they’ll want to be superheroes too, with all their hearts. Oh, we’ll try to stop them, but all their role models are heroes, and all their family are, and they’ll look up to them all so much. And if they inherit half our stubbornness and your brains and my crazy do-gooding, we won’t stand a chance against them. They’ll be the greatest heroes the world ever saw,” he finished. “And if we can, we’ll try to grow old together and watch it happen.”

Barbara nodded slowly, smiling with a combination of acceptance and soft affection.

“We’re not gonna die for a long time, Dick. Not if I have anything to say about it. When I was shot, I thought I was going to die right then. Then I thought either way, my life was over.” She dipped her head slightly. “But I lost nothing. My life became a thousand times richer afterwards, because I, and all the people in my life, made it that way. Our life is fucked up, the forces of evil always come back, always haunt us afterwards no matter what we do, but —”

“But the heroes always come back too,” Dick understood. Hope lit his eyes again, reignited so easily, and she loved him for it. “Heroes always rise up, one way or another. They always have, and they always will.”

“And I know that now.”

 _Evil is not the human default. Giving up, succumbing to our worse instincts, is not the human default. We fall into despair at each others’ hands, but we also lift ourselves up, we give each other hope. Hasn’t that been proven true to me, over and over again? Haven’t I proved to myself that no matter what, even if it temporarily loses, in the end, love_ will _conquer fear?_

He kissed her forehead, the look around his eyes having softened.

“You’ve come a long way.”

She looked at him.

“Alright. No, you’re right.” He corrected himself: “We’ve come a long way.”

“Yes.” She nodded, one more time. “We have.”

This time, she let him wrap his arms around her. She responded in kind, still careful to avoid injuries, but she wrapped her arms around his back, burying her face against his shoulder.

“I don’t say this very often, but Dick...”

“Yeah?”

“You were right.”

“About what?”

“All the good things I used to be afraid of feeling.”

Their firstborn slept peacefully on in the next room. Their friends held pieces of their hearts from everywhere to within the city to across the galaxy. Their families continued to live and breathe and fight under the autumn sky. The night was cold, long, and dark, but it was a place where they had found meaning, joy, and love.

Barbara closed her eyes, and in her husband’s arms, she dreamed of darkness. She dreamed of partnership.

Of free, joyful flight.


End file.
